Jurassic Park: Emergence
by BrachioInGen
Summary: Nearly 10 years has passed since the initial incident that destroyed the dream of John Hammond. Now, left with the repercussion of those actions, the world faces a new threat while the powers that be undermine the safety of the world.
1. Introduction

**JURASSIC PARK**

**EMERGENCE**

**SPECIAL SNEAK PREVIEW**

Written by: Bernard BrachioInGen Kyer Alex EV-108 Evans

Characters/ Situations By:  
>Michael Crichton, David Koepp<p>

Based on the Films of the Jurassic Park franchise

* * *

><p>I can hardly entertain the idea that man could cause the extinction of any species. -Carolus Linnaeus , father of Taxonomy 1790<p>

God s creation is perfect, allowing for no animal to die from the face of the Earth. -The Great Chain of Being, 1570-1790

All species can go extinct: including Man. -Ian Malcolm, 2001

**Introduction Industry, Charity, Faith, Hope**

Dinosaurs live!

Once the 1997 San Diego incident thrust International Genetics BioEngineering overnight into the public arena, the secrets and the story of the powerful, global company became common knowledge. Its doors thrown open to the world, the company quickly shutdown and dispensed a whopping sum to the tune of twenty-eight million dollars for damages, wrongful death settlements, and trauma to the population in the area surrounding the migrant visitor who quickly was returned home.

Amazing stamina shook the worlds' politicians who lobbied for greater control over genetic research, stronger sanctions to control international business practices, and for a complete government controlled investigation into InGen. By this point, however, the company had filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy allowing the board of investors to quickly garner a trustee and sell everything, wiping whole computer systems clean, dismantling equipment with the purpose of leaving very little information through which to be ciphered.

Dr. John Hammond stood at the forefront of the world's mind in this time, begging for protection over the island chain and eventually being present as an international treaty was signed into effect in early 2000, cementing the protection of the island chain. Few had disagreed with the need to protect the island but from a lone scientist, the greatest dissent to Hammond's philosophy found its voice: Dr. Richard Levine. His argument lay in the concept of the islands sustainability. With very little research conducted on the islands ecosystem, he postulated that man must control the island or risk loosing it. Riding a high of public opinion, Dr. Levine spoke out publicly for many months until the horror stories of Dr. Ian Malcolm were dredged from the enquirer headlines and reported in reputable newspapers, causing a general dismissal of Levine's argument as simply impossible.

In hindsight, very little legislation passed as a new threat grew in the minds of the world: terrorism. After the attacks on September 11th, the focus lay no longer on the horrors of Genetic Research, but on this greater threat to freedom. The world's economy began to feel the pinch of reality upon its purse-strings with many companies and banks falling into bankruptcy, turning attention from the once galvanized topic.

In the years since the revelation of InGen to the world, greater steps towards legitimizing scientific research brought about a change in the field. No longer truly concerned with growth for the sake of knowledge, science focused on its marketability. Outreach programs began to open and the idea of the Science Fair took on a new dimension with the creation of iGEM in 2003. The purpose of the fair was to place biological components in the hands of college students tasked with developing biological machines, unicellular 'manufactured organisms' that function in a singular purpose such as destroying cancer, preventing sepsis, or as simple a function as glowing, detecting light, or giving beer the same benefits of wine. The possibilities of these creations are near limitless. Companies like Shell, Ford, and Mazda, who had once begun to fall behind due to public distrust and a growing 'Green' movement greatly funded research into this field, exploring the limits of genetics.

The true answer to consumer biologicals was born. It is on this frontier that man now stands. Technological development, growth in all directions, may single-handedly save the economy of the world at the risk of Humanity. Like with so many discoveries before, science has opened more doors, revealing the power that exists not in huge, but in small.

Science itself was born from the simplest of ideas. In so much as to know a man by his work, man could know God by better knowing his handiwork and think God's thoughts after he thought them. From here science took its first steps into a much larger paradigm. Working from the Bible, early scientists searched into the world from doctrine, putting in place a law of existence known as The Great Chain of Being.

The Great Chain of Being or scala naturae told the story that all things, great and small, were created by God to fulfill a specific purpose on the Earth. The answer to the philosophical issue of why a perfect being would create imperfection took form through this scale whose degrees towards perfection were shown with God resting securely at the top, followed by the Angels, eventually humans, flowing down even as far as the trees, fire, and stones. All creation, both corporal and non-corporal lived in a hierarchy under the one God, fulfilling a specific level of imperfection. With this came the idea of plentitude, the belief that all creation existed in abundance and no step lacked in amount or ability to survive. As such, no sooner could the cougar be extinguished than could the stones on which it walks and if a species could die off, a gap in the scale would be created, introducing imperfection in God s Perfect Creation.' This dogma stood strong and permeated science for hundreds of years until in 1706 this belief met the argument that would ring in its end.

At a convention in France, Georges Cuvier spoke about his controversial new theory of extinction. Science, for the first time, had been asked to explain the surmounting evidence that began to rise up from the ground in the form of fossilized bones, the remains of giants that had not been seen by man in his whole existence, hinting to a time long before man when the world was filled with beasts from nightmares and legends. Some skeletons bore remarkable similarity to living animals such as the rhino and the elephant while others were dismissed simply as animals that had adapted or migrated to lesser known regions of the world like Asia or Africa, giving credence to legends of dragons and monsters. Expeditions to find these Lost Worlds were sent in search of the missing animals, vain attempts to prove the 'Great Chain of Being' infallible.

Even to this dissent, Georges Cuvier stood his ground, believing firmly in the idea that animals in the past had gone extinct and could in the future go extinct. This radical idea brought forth another new theory called uniformitarianism, dictating that all things in the past are equally possible again in the future. Expeditions continued to return with little to no evidence and thus the 'Great Chain of Being' slowly lost founding as it became further and further apparent that these animals were indeed extinct.

Despite this, there were many prominent in the scientific community who argued against the theories. None other than the father of taxonomy, Carolus Linnaeus, disagreed with Georges Cuvier's view on extinction. History would prove him wrong.

In Carolus Linnaeus' time, the study of animal familial connections was firmly based on skeletal and observable attributes. Two animals with similar bone structures would be considered the same family. A logical idea, the theory was not without its failures. Certain species were exceptions from the rule such as a mammal that could lay eggs and had the bill of a duck. Such anomalies were not consistent with his view on the animal family trees and remained unexplained. Not until hundreds of years later, after the discovery of DNA and the ability to map genomes, would the old world begin to break down and the true lineage of a species be ascertained.

The repercussions in the research into mapping the human genome were unknown in the early 1980's, even to those who devoted their careers to it. Having attended Harvard and moved on to bio-genetic research at Berkeley, Dr. Henry Wu joined the Human Genome project in its youth, spearheading the movement and working to fund the project. Searching out funding from all sources international and private, Wu eventually met John Parker Hammond, a billionaire whose family had earned its wealth in the construction business. Hammond spoke briefly with Wu about the project and almost immediately funded him, much to Wu s amazement.

Years passed with Hammond's great fortune leading to the near completion of the project. With the final research in sight, Wu was contacted again by Hammond and summoned to his mansion. A death in the company had left a void that Hammond was convinced only one man could fill. Wu wanted to agree but the meeting was brief and the details were sketchy. Nervous, Wu nearly turned down the offer until he realized the reason Hammond had funded the project at all. Handed an ultimatum, the choice was to help Hammond on his new company InGen, or have trouble finding further funding.

Involved in almost every form of research and development possible, InGen was built from the ground up by Hammond, using funding from around the world and the expertise of an old professor of Wu's, Norman Atherton. Atherton's death had left a void in the company that Wu quickly filled and in less than 10 years, InGen grew into one of the most promising Bio-Genetic firms in the world. Wu's expertise with the great advancements in computer technology and genetic extraction techniques gave the company an advantage, moving it to be the fore-runner in genetic ventures world wide, taking over many contracts from other companies like BioSynth, BioSyn, OrgaGen, and IHC.

Known for his eccentricity, Hammond funded research in many varying fields, studying everything from the re-sequencing of DNA, supercomputers, Paleontology, and Hammond's most bizarre spending: his massive Amber collection. Even to this extent, his most well kept secret lay in what wasn t researched in United States borders. Overseas, in the waters off the coast of Indonesia in the Java Sea, InGen owned the small island of Hantu Rimba. Here, the first steps of research towards the collecting and examining of prehistoric material for its genetic value began. Dr. Henry Wu, working closely and eventually exclusively on this project, proved his worth to the company in a matter of years.

On December 23rd, 1987, Wu phoned Hammond in the dead of night.  
>I beg your pardon for waking you master Hammond, but a man by the name of Dr. Henry Wu is calling from one of the InGen research facilities. He says it s important, the butler spoke from the door.<br>Hammond moved across his bedroom, waving his arms in excitement. Taking the phone, he answered.

Have you done it, m'boy? Have ya' really done it? There was a brief pause. Hammond could hear the hiss of the line and the slight pop of the distortion.  
>Mr. Hammond, listen for yourself. It was faint, but unmistakable. The chirping of a small animal: bird-like, but with an almost alien rasping. Wu had indeed done it.<p>

In all, Wu re-birthed over 30 species of animal, insect, and foliage, a monstrous achievement for one man in a span of fifteen years, enough to honor him with a Nobel Peace Prize, lifetime achievement award and a lesson in biology books. History, however, had a plan of its own.

On June 11th, 1993, a group of scientists visited the skeletal island retreat Isla Nublar where Wu s creations were only partially inhabiting. The island was incomplete, with many planned safety features not fully operational. Yet, the man who funded Wu and owned InGen, John Hammond, pushed on anyway, exposing the group to a disaster that lead to the collapse of the island.

Less than a year later, Isla Sorna, the powerhouse of Wu s production, was destroyed by hurricane Clarissa, wiping out facilities and all hope of resurrecting the project. Hammond seized this chance to abandon his dream, allowing it to die away on a forgotten island. None were allowed to speak of the incidents on the islands, being forced to leave all research and technology behind to rot away in the tropical rain forests.

For three years Isla Sorna remained unchanged and untouched by man until an unfortunate incident lead the board of investors to strip John Hammond of his control over InGen. In an attempt to recoup their losses, the company undertook an expedition that would eventually bankrupt the fledgling genetics company and expose their secret to the world.

The islands again lay undisturbed, protected now by international law, until one of the most prominent figures from the initial incident on Isla Nublar was tricked back into the dragons nest in a families attempt to save their son. Alan Grant, the worlds leading paleontologist and self proclaimed cynic survived the island with a small group of civilians, rescued in one of the largest covert operations in modern times. Stranded on the island, being hunted by beasts unknown, the group barely survived and left an indelible mark on the psyche of the paleontologist. The entire group was indicted and gave testimony to a grand jury at the UN in private about the incident.

It would be the testimony of Dr. Grant that the most disturbing truth would be realized. The UN had blissfully ignored the island, attempting at the behest of John Hammond, to leave the island as a natural preserve. Alan spoke directly to the council, reading from his written statement in a sharp voice.

This island remains a living threat to the world. Every delegate of the UN security council sat fixated on Dr. Grant, hanging on his every word. The council had been convened in secret to hear the testimony of Dr. Alan Grant who's story outlining the dangers of Isla Sorna's continued existence had caused a stir within the governments of the world. Some had feared that the islands mere preservation could lead to a much larger threat should the animals adapt or manage to find a way to cross the expanse of ocean that separated this lost world from civilization. Others insisted on pillaging the island for the secrets they were convinced it held.

My belief is that InGen used this breakthrough in technology to produce facsimiles of extinct mega fauna. This process was not without its errors. Living on the island are many species that seem reasonably reasonably realistic but alongside these creatures are errors: problems that arose during the recreation of the animals. It is unknown how many species exist on the island. InGen's own list omits many species I saw as well as the unnatural species I witnessed and which almost took the life of my colleague. Alan took a short, shallow breath. Looking up from his written statement and into the eyes of a few stone faced councilmen. He could tell his concerns didn't bother them. He needed to scare them.

My studies into a specific inhabitant of the island, the Velociraptors, gave me a rare insight on these animals. We've known that this species was intelligent but until my encounter on Isla Sorna, the extent of that intelligence was unknown. Problem solving skills, complex communications, intelligent and emotional behavior with a remarkable and complex social hierarchy firmly places these animals on the level of Cetacean intelligence and possibly higher. The council looked on, not entirely understanding. Grant sighed, recognizing the confusion in the groups eyes. He leaned into the podium microphone deciding to unbind his tongue.  
>I have no doubt in my professional and personal opinion that these animals, if ever allowed off the island, could he hesitated a moment, correcting himself.<br>would end the reign of man kind as the dominant species on this planet.

This had been the turning point. The dire warning visibly shook the council who, thanking Alan, dismissed him. The council argued in secret for nearly two months on how to handle the island. No decision was leaked and no plans were known. Small incidents from time to time hinted to the plan underway. Attacks from animals were hushed and few knew of the growing danger.

For nine years the world kept going. Man focused again on his life, the economy, who would be elected president, the avoidance of spreading diseases and the humanitarian aide needed in disaster stricken lands, oblivious to the plan nearly finished.

For more than nine years this secret remained safe until the final breaking point was reached.


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

The dark expanse of the midnight forest stretched before him. Standing on the edge of the cliff face, three bright beams of light were clear below. They were searching, but for what?

Leaning out he could faintly hear the clamoring. Names were being called out in hope that each could follow their voices to one another, and so far it was working. _Bad idea_, he thought to himself.

The lights were moving frantically, up and down through the foliage. He knew someone had taken his industrial sized flashlights.

There was a sharp tick up, as the furthest light shot up and now sat motionless, shining high up into the midnight sky. The echo of screams hit his ears, sending chills down his spine. The other two lights shot in the direction of the now motionless third: they had heard it too. One light began moving closer while the other moved back and fourth, unsure whether to move at all.

Even heavily blended in the girls scream, he knew the animals' noise and it caused his pulse to race. He stood for a moment more, contemplating his perch. He was upwind, with a heavy breeze blowing his scent back towards the jungle expanse behind him which writhed as the wind began to rush. He felt the adrenaline fill his veins as he looked, horrified, at the scene unfolding before him, unable to stop the horror as the hot tropical air filled with the sounds of wind, violence, and fear.

The jungle behind him breached, releasing an arm that grasped tightly around his shoulder and snatched him into its embrace.

"Lets get out of here," whispered a voice close to his ear, guiding him deep into the forest, dimmed flashlight in hand.


	3. Chapter 1: Willful Hearts

**Chapter I**

**Willful Hearts**

"And that's all I know," Adij spoke.

Wearing a slightly ill-fitting beige suit, Adij was attractive for his age: nearly fifty. His short, dark hair showed signs of gray, his youthful edge still present even around his laugh lines whose presence belied his straight-laced business nature. He leaned forward and slid a thick manila envelope over the table after taking it from his brown leather business bag.

Bahar Alda sat opposite from Adij. A young Indian woman of twenty-seven, Bahar had an unassuming elegance about her; long dark hair pulled off to the side with an simple hair pin, allowing its full length to stretch to her shoulder.

"You're certain," she began, "that the Doctor's name is Wu?"

"Yes," he responded, simply. "They said his name many times. These are the complete transcripts from the meetings. I wasn't the translator for all the UN security council meetings on this matter, but you're a smart girl. You can fill in the holes."

"Who is this Dr. Wu? Where is he?" Alda asked.

"I don't know," said Adij, leaning back into his padded chair in the intimate tea room just out side of Ankara, Turkey. The sounds of street traffic drifted in through the wooden slits in the window shutters and the murmur of small conversations filled the dimly lit tea house. "He never showed."

"How's that?" Alda snapped.

"I don't know. They couldn't find him and all the people who tried couldn't find him."

The conversation went quiet for a moment. Adij leaned in and sipped some tea, only to recline again. Bahar looked around, confused, as if trying to put the pieces together.

"What do you need this for anyway?" Adij finally asked, breaking the silence. Bahar began fiddling with her bag, mind racing in thoughts a million miles away.

"The greatest discovery in history has been made and the man who made it disappears?" Her answer was without emotion, lacking any eye contact as she pulled an envelope from her bag.

"What do you need it for?" he stressed.

Bahar finally met his gaze with an angry quizzical wince, dropping a white envelope. "I thought we had agreed: no questions." Bahar asked blankly. Adij shuffled lightly, as if still expecting her to answer, staring back unresponsive. The two remained motionless a moment until Bahar broke down.

"If there's one thing the U.N. isn't known for it's actual intelligence. This is the key to unlocking the future. Wu created techniques that must be decades ahead of where we are now.

"This could be the key to unlocking some of the greatest biological questions of our time."

Adij sat motionless for a moment, fingertips caressing his new white envelope. Picking it up, he leaned back, not entirely grasping the concept.

"From Dinosaurs?" but before he could finish Bahar had already packed her bag and began to walk away, forcing her way past patrons and a waiter.

Adij leaned back into his seat and looked around the room for a moment. Sipping his tea again, he motioned for the waiter.

The busy streets of Ankara whizzed by as Bahar exited the tea house. People carrying goods to market forced by her, pushing her closer to a crowd she had nervously tried to avoid. The crowd moved as one across the street as Bahar followed, clutching her bag with one hand, trying to avoid traffic and the crowd alike, jumping to safety on the sidewalk.

"We can't go that way," interrupted a voice.

"What?" Bahar turned around.

A man in his early thirties stood close to her with his face near her shoulder. He put his arm around hers and began to direct her the other way."They've got the apartment staked out."

"Shit!"

"You didn't leave anything? I told you not to leave-"

"I didn't leave anything," she snapped back. "I just didn't expect them to be this fast."

Bahar glanced up to the window of the tea room, then shot her eyes away. She had a weird feeling and didn't like where it was leading. The two exchanged looks and continued walking into a park. Across the pond, a couple walked holding hands watching the ducks quack noisily near the water lilies. They passed several people sitting on benches, enjoying the afternoon sun; an oasis from an otherwise arid and loud world of Ankara.

"I've got some light reading," she admitted, coyly moving closer to her chaperon.

"Good. Parker was getting anxious about this guy. When he didn't show up the other times, we thought maybe it was a fake."

"It looks real, Surresh. The jerk seemed like he might have truly bought our story too or was too dumb to even care. I couldn't tell which."

"How much?" Surresh smiled through his teeth as he spoke, pretending to say sweet nothings close to Bahar's ear.

"Not as much as I expected. He didn't try to haggle."

Surresh continued to smile, his eyebrows belying his thoughts. "That's odd."

The two walked up to a bench where a man sat reading a newspaper.

"Find any new jobs listings," Bahar prodded the man.

The paper moved out of the way, revealing a middle aged man who nervously sat behind it, looking displeased and out of his element.

"Do you have it?" he asked, with unencumbered bluntness, unashamed of their blown cover.

Bahar responded without skipping a beat. "Lets get on the damned plane."

* * *

><p>The office door cracked open slowly. A young man in his late twenties with long hair stretching nearly to his shoulders walked out, crumpling a piece of paper into his pocket, only to walk out the door, bells ringing as he exited.<p>

The receptionist turned towards her small office window and smiled.

"See you next week, Eric!"

Eric Kirby glanced back quickly. With a half hearted smile and a wave of his hand, he walked out and on to the right towards the parking area, wiping the forced smile from his face.

_God, I hate therapists_, he thought to himself, rummaging through his pocket for his car keys.

"And why is it that you feel you can't be trusted," Dr. Davis had questioned earlier.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," Eric admitted, fidgeting.

"Eric," Dr. Davis said slowly, leaning back into his chair.

"I get the feeling you don't want to be here-and that's O.K.! I might be more worried if you wanted to be here. But you have to learn to work with me. These dreams you keep having mean something about your subconscious. We have to find what they lead to. Do you feel it has to do with your parents—your mother?"

Eric moved uneasily in his chair, his leg bouncing in place. He tried to tell the therapist before but he wouldn't listen. Dreams about dinosaurs were easy to explain, but what they lead to was harder to divulge.

Dr. Davis sighed and signed a piece of paper, slipping a copy of it into Eric's case file.

"I've been hesitating to do this," Dr. Davis began, "but I think it'll help with the anxiety. I want you to get this prescription filled and start taking it. It takes a few days to build up in the system and by next week—"

Eric had stopped listening at this point. He stood and took the prescription and walked out the door.

_I don't wanna be like mom. I don't want pills,_ he mused, holding the slip in his hand, driving down the small town road towards his apartment, passing two CVS drug stores on the way. The years had not been kind to Eric. Although the rescue from Isla Sorna had seemed like a happy ending, it had came to an abrupt end. His mind wandered, as it often did, back to the day they finally escaped Isla Sorna.

The helicopter landed on the battleship but the group had been instructed to remain seated for a moment. The moment turned to minutes while they nervously watched the rotors come to a complete stop and the military personnel stared up at the helicopter as they walked by. Paul and Amanda held hands, reaching out to Eric to pull the family they had fought so hard to rebuild together.

Eric could see Alan sighing, staring out the windows, somewhat confused, glancing often at Billy who lied in a peaceful sleep.

With a quick slam, the helicopter door opened loud enough to wake Billy from his drug induced sleep. Two men in suits and one Naval officer walked to the door.

"You're all under arrest. Take them to the brig."

"What!" Amanda screeched, looking at Paul and then back towards the officers walking on board, hand cuffs prepared.

"Now, there must be some sort of explanation for this!" Alan Grant chimed in, hands in front of him, cuffed together mid sentence.

The Navel Officer stood motionless, eyes piercing Alan's face.

"You have broken six international laws governing this island and its isolation. The list of charges include: criminal trespassing, destruction of habitat, destruction of endangered wildlife, tampering with a natural preserve, disturbing the habitat of protected species and—" he trailed off.

"There are less crew present than were listed in the manifest from takeoff. I can assume those people are dead?" The group had all been cuffed and were silently being brought to the door, having succumbed to their fate.

"Then the wrongful deaths of at least three people are on your hands as well."

"It's gonna be ok, Eric, it's gonna be ok," Amanda whispered to her son led off in front of her.

Eric walked into his apartment, crumpling the prescription into the trash. The apartment was small and falling apart. Affordable housing made it possible for him to live there but the roommates made it impossible. They sat in the living room playing a game online, shouting at each-other.

"Dude, teabag him!"

"HAH! Pwned!"

Eric walked into his room and locked the door. Images flashed through his mind as it raced through manic thoughts. He tossed his phone onto his desk just as it began to ring. He knew who it would be and he didn't want to talk right now. Not to anyone; especially not to him.

Closing his eyes as he fell on the bed, he tried to block everything out and sleep.

* * *

><p>Children ran through the halls, their laughter echoing through the lobby. Alan Grant handed the phone back to the receptionist at the front desk who hung it up for him. Eric hadn't been taking his calls for the past few weeks; not since the two had a falling out.<p>

"You need to stick with school, it's important that you do, Eric." Alan had argued, standing by the dorm room door. He could tell Eric was only half listening as he packed up his clothes and other belongings.

"Alan, you don't get it. I don't belong here."

"Why? Is this because of the dreams?" Alan asked, trying to soften his tone.

Eric snapped his suitcase shut and spun around.

"No, and the sad part is you know exactly why!"

"Eric, that's not fair."

"Fair?" Eric sounded off pacing across the dorm room to his closet for his shoes.

"Fair would have been me dying on that island. Fair would have been my parents not trying to rebuild their marriage after knowing it wouldn't work. Fair—" he trailed off, sitting on his bed.

"Fair would be people actually caring what we have to say," Alan spoke finishing Eric's sentence.

Eric nodded, agreeing. Alan moved across the room to sit next to him on the bed, pushing a pillow out of the way and making a half smile, a coy attempt at understanding and relating in this critical moment to his protege, student, friend, and fellow survivor.

"Eric," Alan began, staring at the ground, breathing with a ragged tone, "how many scientists can you name that discovered something important or groundbreaking, but were immediately accepted?"

Eric looked around, trying not to participate in the conversation.

"Every important discovery has been argued and laughed at and scoffed off as lunacy. You and I know what we saw, but people won't believe you. No one knows you've been to the island."

"I know though. I've been there."

"But you know you can't talk about it. I can't either."

"But at least you can talk about the first island and people will listen."

Alan shifted on the bed next to Eric, uncomfortable about the memories. "I don't talk about the island, Eric."

"And you should!" Eric snapped at him, frustration growing in his eyes. "There's a lot we can learn about the animals if you would just talk about them."

"You know what my stance is, Eric. I don't talk about it." Alan stood up, signaling the end of the conversation in hopes of lightening the mood.

"My point is," he started off, exhaling, "we should just be glad we don't live in the 1700's. We would be put to death."

"We almost were killed, Alan."

The two sat in silence a moment. Alan wasn't sure what more he could say but he knew what he had to. "Eric, you can't quit now. You need to stick it out here for another two years at least."

Eric looked at him perplexed. "Two years Alan? I graduate in less than one."

"Then stay longer!"

Eric laughed, standing up from the bed."You're a nut!"

"Eric, it's important!"

"Alan. I'm not your son," Eric began, shouldering a bag.

"You don't have to do this. And it doesn't show failure on you if I don't stay. I just can't be here anymore." Eric finished, walking out of the dorm room, picking up a box.

Alan remained on the door room bed. Exhaling he whispered to himself.

"Then I can't protect you anymore."

The receptionist hung up the phone and pointed behind Alan towards the next tour group. Alan grimaced lightly back towards her as she smirked. Alan cleaned up well despite his rugged man image. Khaki jeans hid mos tof his dusty, worn boots and a well ironed, white button up shirt neatly tucked in completed the look. The blue patterned tie, however, was awkward.

Fiddling with his tie, Alan approached the group.

"Hello everyone! Welcome to The Museum of the Rockies!" he greeted the group, who half paid attention and half watched their children file into place in front of Dr. Grant.

"On behalf of our lead paleontologist, Jack Horner, I'd like to welcome you to our Museum. My name is Dr. Grant. If you'll follow me, we'll begin our tour."

"Until 65 million years ago, dinosaurs roamed the Earth. Some of these animals were brutal, swift and intelligent and some were giant behemoths. Up until recently, people saw these animals as dumb lizards, but we're beginning to unearth more everyday, proving just how intelligent these social animals really were.

"Here we can see a display showing the ferocious Dilophosaurus. Dilophosaurus was one of the first large predators that hunted here in America. It's named for the two frills on its head which we believe may have been used for mating displays. The weak jaw and front arms along with its large size for the era makes us think that perhaps it stole from smaller predators of its time, scavenging, rather than hunting, using its size to scare off the true hunters of the period. "

"Sir," a little boy asked, raising his hand.

"Do we know what dinosaurs really looked like? Do they really look like that!" the boy asked hiding behind his mother, pointing to a poorly modeled, stiff animatronic that waved its body back and fourth, lifelessly opening its jaw.

Alan held back a _no, you wouldn't see them and they'd already have you surrounded_, but somethings were better off not said.

"Well, dinosaurs died off millions of years ago. They didn't have cameras back then and none of them were smart enough to draw us a picture so there's no way to know exactly what they looked like."

"What about those dinosaurs on the island?" an adult male voice called out from the back, jocularly.

There was a light moan from the group and Alan stood for a moment, fighting back his inner thoughts unsuccessfully.

"Those animals," Alan paused, taking in a breath and attempting to steady his voice, "are genetically recreated. There is no way to know how accurate those 'representations' of nature are."

"But sir," the little boy asked again, tugging on Alan's pocket.

"What if they wanted them to be real?"

Alan thought to himself for a second not knowing how to answer the child when another voice called out.

"Wait a minute! You said you're Dr. Grant! Dr. Alan Grant? You're that guy who went to the island! You_ know_ what they look like!" and all at once, the tour group went into an uproar of voices, all calling out for autographs and pictures.

"Please, please!" Alan yelled out to the group, trying to regain calm. Other visitors began to stare in the direction of the noise, some moving closer in fascination, cameras flashing.

"Alan? What's going on?" a man from behind asked.

A collective hush came over the group, parting out of his way.

"Dr. Horner. Good'ay. You seem to have caught me in the middle of an autograph session."

"I see. Ladies and Gentlemen, we ask that you refrain from asking Dr. Grant for his autograph till after the tour. It can be bothersome to the others here and can potentially get someone hurt. If you would like and if Dr.

Grant has the time, he can give you one after the tour."

"Thank you, Jack," Alan sighed.

"No problem, Alan."

"And there you go," Alan said, signing the last autograph. He was finally on break.

"Doris, coffee–black," Alan announced to the desk clerk who nodded and poured him a cup.

He was tired from working all day. He'd been recognized by nine people in the last week alone with no good end in sight. Dr. Grant had become somewhat of a celebrity since the San Diego incident broke open the story of InGen and its dinosaur islands. With InGen's collapse came the unexpected disclosure of the Isla Nublar accident, immediately prompting a public outcry for both an investigation and the popularization of those who survived.

Alan's response had been rather disappointing to most. He felt that his involvement in the incident had been minimal. Not feeling he deserved any accolades for merely surviving the island while so many other gave their lives so he could live, he tried to downplay the good from the incident and instead bring to light the dangers and the deaths from it.

Like so many others that survived, he had been approached with a book deal. Alan had eventually accepted the deal but his final product left the publisher in a bind. The company intended to release a tell all book on the incident but instead were struck with an analytical break down of the differences between the animals seen on Isla Nublar and the ones studied in the fossil record: a book that would sell well in certain circles, and that many would buy simply to read in hopes of finding out what it was like, but an obvious flop.

Alan hadn't cared. He was tired of being envied. Yes, he'd seen the animals, but he'd seen the death and destruction too. If those same people could only know what it was like to be there, to be running for your life from something as cunning and intelligent as you, they would think twice before wanting to go there—or so he had hoped.

"Alan," called a voice from down the hall.

"Billy? How are you?"

"Doing great, man, how are you," Billy Brennan responded, hand outstretched. The two shook hands while Alan used his free hand to pat Billy on the back. Billy had not changed a lot since his encounter on the island. Small scars had been placed almost strategically on his face, but his demeanor was the same. His love of dinosaurs and wish for exploring their past had only been expanded by his visit to Isla Sorna. Alan's involvement in Billy's life had diminished over the years. Billy sought out greater digs around the world, even so much as to work with Dr. Horner in some of his greatest finds and helping to popularize archeology by pushing it forward technologically.

"Oh, just tired, Billy." Alan responded, sighing and taking a sip of his coffee. "Only society would envy people going to the worst place in the world."

"I know what you mean. I've had more girlfriends now than I did before," Billy laughed. Alan walked to the break room and sat down, smiling lightly. It was good to see Billy again.

"So what have you been up to?" Alan asked.

"The usual: college, chicks... women," he said laughing.

"Still digging?"

"Not so much anymore. You should see the new equipment Dr. Horner is buying. We don't have to dig anymore!"

Alan stared on, unimpressed. Billy continued, sensing Alan's distrust in technology.

"We use a sonar imaging device—sound waves, Alan—and it's able to make a scan of everything. You can see outlines of skin, impressions of the organs, organ systems, brain matter, and even feathers! We can then use the computer program designed for Dr. Horner that takes all the information and rebuilds it completely in 3D to make a model of everything and we can work with that instead. It's getting to the point where doing what you use to do is actually worse because it destroys more evidence than its worth!"

Billy paused, noticing Alan fiddling with his tie.

"How do you like the monkey suit?"

Alan chuckled and jerked to the side. Reaching down to his pocket and pulling out a small beeper, he fiddled with it, not sure how to make it stop.

"They make me wear this damned thing. I think that means they need me," he said standing up from the break room table and heading out to the lobby.

"You know what's really cool, Alan? Even the encased material that's been excavated can be sent to a lab for a CAT scan and be completely rebuilt in the computer-"

An elderly man stood near the reception desk. He turned around, leaning heavily on his cane, butler standing near the entrance with a wheel-chair.

"Mr. Hammond?" Alan interrupted.

The withered form of John Hammond turned with small, jagged shakes. The years had not been particularly kind to Hammond. Hunched far over, he relied heavily on the cane which had once served as a decoration to the eccentric mans' whims; the amber still shinning with the brilliance of the years past, the mosquito resting high atop the bone like pole.

"Dr. Grant! How great it is to see you!" Hammond smiled. His charisma unchanged by the years. "And who's this?"

"Mr. Hammond, this is Billy Brennan, a colleague of mine. Billy, this is John Parker Hammond, the man who once owned InGen."

Billy's complexion ran white. He stretched out a nervous hand, trying to keep his jaw from dropping. Hammond almost winced at the mention of InGen, then smiled to greet Billy.

"Any friend of Dr. Grant's deserves my respect. Great to meet ya m'boy."

"What brings you here?"

"Well, Alan," Hammond said slowly, glancing at Billy who's eyes were wide, focused on him. He reached out to hold Grant's shoulder.

"I'd like to discuss something with you. Is there a place we can go to speak?" he asked, looking above his glasses, eyes fixated on Alan's.

"Certainly," Grant said slowly, turning to lead the way.

"The, uh, break room is right here," Alan said cautiously as he led Hammond through a metal door that read "Museum Staff Only."

Looking to Billy, Alan mouthed _Get me in five minutes._

Billy sat down with his thoughts outside the break room.

He couldn't believe he'd met_ the_ John Hammond: the one who started it all. He'd heard briefly about Hammond through Alan. He didn't talk about what happened much, but Billy had earned Alan's trust and on a few nights after digging all day, Alan told Billy bits and pieces of the story. He knew that Alan and Dr. Ellie Sattler had worked together years prior and that Hammond had been funding their digs. Back then, Alan and Ellie had sent a lot of scrap bone to a lab which Alan now felt was where Hammond got some of his DNA for recreating the animals. Alan's guilt had played a large role in why the two stopped working together.

Billy couldn't stand not knowing what they were talking about. He leaned in just as the door opened and jumped to his feet.

"It was good as ever to see you again, Dr. Grant. I know these years have not seen you fairly." Hammond stopped and turned around to meet Grants gaze, attempting to catch his breath. "Perhaps I can do something about that." It was more of a statement than a question.

"That would be very kind of you, John, but that won't be necessary. I get along fine."

Hammond smiled lightly, looking up to Billy, nodding, and began his way towards the door. Billy kept staring at the old man. Hammond presence permeated the hall. Even guests could tell he had been a man of importance with several turning to watch as he crossed the rotunda, automatically drawn to his magnetism.

"Until we meet again, Dr. Grant," Hammond spoke as he hobbled slowly towards the door, his words echoing lightly in the atrium.

Alan half smiled as Hammond walked towards the lobby doors, cane clicking with every step against the hard floor. The butler began to move the wheelchair towards Hammond who dismissed him, instead walking out the

door to his limo, unaided, holding his head high, a fading smile across his face.

"What was that about Alan?" Billy asked, looking intently from the door to his old mentor. Alan stood for a moment, thinking.

"Alan?"

Snapping out of it, he began to walk off to grab his coffee, Billy in tow.

"You don't want to know."

* * *

><p>The loud clicking of John Hammond's cane broke the silence of the quiet office building's hallway. He wheezed with each desperate continued step. Ten feet behind him, a butler followed silently pushing a wheelchair. He was on a mission. A desperate mission. There were few he could turn to in this hour of need, and he was visiting each one.<p>

Finally reaching the end of the hall, Hammond stopped and took a breath. He sized up the wooden office door then knocked loudly. No one answered. He tried again, this time testing the door handle, which opened with ease.

"Hello?" he asked, inquisitively, pushing the door open into a small office. The room looked disheveled. Papers were strewn across every surface including the floor. The walls were covered with well worn maps with colored thumbnails stuck in at strangely unimportant locations. The desk sat silently near the back of the room with an overturned, empty chair behind it.

"Can I help you!" a woman's voice interrupted from the doorway, pushing into the room.

"Yes, my name is John Hammond, I'm here to see-"

"He's not in right now, I can take a message," she interrupted, obviously bothered by his presence, taking a step away from the doorway to usher him out.

"When will he be back? I can wait. You see, I must speak with him. My name is Dr. John Ham-"

"I know who you are," she interrupted again.

For a moment the two stood staring at each other, their expressions unchanged and unwavering.

"He's gone on a trip. He won't be back for some time. I can take a message for you."

Hammond stood for a moment, staring around the room. The desk was covered with a pad of messages.

"A trip, you say. Perhaps I can meet him there," Hammond continued, as he made his way for the door.

"No, sir. I can't tell you where he's gone, only that there is no way to reach him."

Hammond continued out the door, hesitating after a few steps, breathing in a deep breath.

"Then perhaps I will leave the good doctor a message," he paused, taking a few fumbled steps to turn around.

"Tell Dr. Levine he was right."

The receptionist stood for a moment, eyes locked with Hammond's. She nodded and watched the old mans smile slowly evaporated from his face.


	4. Chapter 2: Fragility

**Chapter II**

**Fragility**

The warmth of the street lights freshly bathed the trees and lawns of the neighborhood. A few cars drove down the street as the taxi pulled out from the driveway. Alan walked up the path towards the front door of an upper-middle class home, night bag and briefcase in tow. He was late.

"Alan, you made it!" Ellie announced, opening the door suddenly and before he could knock, launching into a big hug. "Come on! Come in!" Her smile wide as ever as she moved back through the doorway, holding it open for Alan.

"It's good to see you too, Ellie. How's the family?" Alan asked, carrying his bag in and placing it down near the doorway. He looked around the house trying to hide his occasional glance at Ellie while he took account for the things that had changed since his last visit.

"Good! We made you dinner but I guess your flight was late. We just put the kids to bed."

"Yeah, there was a storm and they had to delay the flight." She looks good, he thought to himself. The years had been kind to her and mother hood suited her well. He had always been afraid of her drive for children, and his inability to guarantee that to her, but seeing her here, as a mother made him slightly depressed and greatly happy for her.

"Almost thought they'd have to cancel. Sorry I didn't call but I don-"

"Don't have a cell-phone," she interrupted him laughing. "It's alright Alan. I'll heat up your dinner. Do you want something to drink? Mark just opened a bottle of wine," Ellie asked, walking him into the kitchen.

"Sound great."

"Is Dr. Grant here?" Mark entered the kitchen from his study, sneaking a look around the corner into the living room. "Hello Dr. Grant!"

"Mark." Alan's smile faded only slightly as he shook hands with Mark, someone he was still growing accustomed to. Mark wasn't necessarily a bad guy. In fact, Alan knew he was a good man. He knew that Mark treated Ellie well and respected her. In the end, however, he could only look at Mark as a pale echo of himself.

"Did you bring all the paperwork?"

Alan nodded. Glancing at Ellie staring on inquisitively, pouring three glasses of wine.

"Great," Mark smiled, looking to his wife, "this shouldn't take too long, honey." Ellie smiled back, handing the two their glasses of wine and sneaking off into the other room.

Reaching into his bag, Grant cautiously removed a sealed manila envelope from his briefcase and handed it to Mark. "I had it proofed and I signed all the lines. It should be in order."

"Good. Good. We can't commence without this. Thank you for being so prompt about it. Are you ready for tomorrow?"

Grant hesitated, noticing Ellie sitting on the couch in the living room, eavesdropping.

"Yes. I've prepped everything."

"Great, then let me go get this faxed out. I'll be right back." Mark finished, jumping up from the table and walking off to his study.

Grant sat in the kitchen for a moment, his eyes catching Jack the parrots eyes in the corner. Jack cocked his head, and stared on, unflinching, behind the bars. Alan stared at him and he just stared right back.

Exhaling, Alan stood up from the table and walked into the living room where Ellie sat, waiting to say something. "Never get much down time if you do business even on your holidays, Alan" she laughed, sipping some wine.

"Oh, Ellie," Grant let out a slight chuckle, sinking into one of the chairs.

Ellie sat for a moment, looking at the floor, then at Alan. "So how's work?"

Alan laughed. The question caught him completely off guard. He hadn't laughed like this in a few weeks and Ellie could tell and smiled, pleased she'd cracked his veneer.

"Ellie," Alan stated, coming down out of the smile.

"We have to talk."

"Sure, Alan. Anything."

"There are," he hesitated, moving to the couch next to Ellie. "There are a lot of things I can't tell you right now."

"Alan, you can tell me anything," she said with a sympathetic smile, putting her hand on his.

Alan looked down at her hand, and nodded, understanding. "There are some things I'm not allowed to tell you."

Ellie was taken slightly aback, her interest peaked.

"Years ago, when you and I worked with Hammond, we didn't know what was going on."

"We had no way of knowing," she added, looking into Alan's eyes.

"Yes. There was no way to know; but I still feel somewhat responsible for the lives lost over the years from the things we did, that you and I helped create."

"Alan, we didn't do them. We," she exhaled, shifting in the couch.

"We didn't do them. And besides, if it wasn't us, it would have been Burke or Bakker or Horner or any number of other people."

Alan sighed, agreeing. "I know. But what if I told you I'm involved in something right now."

Ellie stared deeply at him, trying to read where he was going.

"Where I know what they're planning. Something I'm helping them plan."

"Alan," Ellie interrupted, hesitating to ask the question. "What's going on?"

Alan sighed deeply. He stood up from the couch and took a few steps away.

"I can't tell you much." He turned around slowly, looking from the floor up to Ellie's face. "I just need your forgiveness."

* * *

><p>The windshield wipers were set to their highest level, streaking across the glass, working to no avail against the rain that came down in squalls, slightly pushing the SUV to the side. Bahar wasn't worried: she was almost home.<p>

Having landed in DC only a few hours prior, she was finally making her way back home in the late-afternoon storm. The flight had been relatively uneventful. Spending most of her trip reading the massive transcripts, she eventually decided they were the real thing.

The hardest part for Bahar to grasp was how quickly it all seemed to fall into place. First there was the covert rescue of a Dr. Alan Grant along with a few no names from Isla Sorna in 2001. His name was important because he'd been to Isla Nublar, where the story had all unfolded which might mean he was involved somehow in the process. He was only a paleontologist and not a geneticist so chances are he was still no use to her but his involvement may still hold the key to unlocking even some basics on how the process started. She'd have to make a note to call him although his help was not guaranteed.

What interested Bahar more, however, was his current involvement. Despite being summoned more often than any other speaker, Alan only ever spoke in strong words against the animals and the island. It was painfully obvious to Bahar that his advice fell on deaf ears and that his testimony seemed to only work against him. She doubted Grant could tell and if he did, then he must be really worried about what they were planning.

Whatever it was, it didn't interest her. Alan was the first great step, she was sure, but more importantly, where had Dr. Wu gone?

The rain had slowed briefly to a light drizzle as Bahar turned the corner onto her street, pulling into her driveway. Grabbing her bags, she jumped out of her SUV and ran to the front door, shoving a large pile of mail out of the way as the door opened wide. She would deal with that latter.

Her living room had been converted into a home office, with placards and awards hanging from the walls. A large computer desk sat near the front window. She tossed the manila envelope on her desk, voicemail light persistently beeping and computer screen blinking idly. She moved the mouse and walked away to her bathroom to shower, leaving the screen to came back to life asking for her password.

A black SUV slowly pulled up behind Bahar's car, doors opening quickly with several men in suits jumping out and running out towards the house.

Bahar turned on her radio and opened the shower curtain. Hesitating, she remembered her clean clothes were in the bedroom and crossed back into her room to grab something to wear.

The men stood behind the door, knocking persistently against the blaring radio. It was no use.

Bahar walked back into her bathroom, night clothes in hand, letting down her long hair as she ran her hands through it. The bathroom filled with steam as she took a brush to her hair, attempting to detangle it gently.

The front door burst into splinters, falling off its hinges revealing ten men in SWAT uniforms and a battering ram, the men in suits in tow. The group exploded into the house screaming orders, running into every room including the bathroom, pushing Bahar to the floor, still in a towel.

Bahar looked up at the lead man in a suit, who held a badge in her face. She glanced at it and rolled her eyes.

"Damn it."

* * *

><p>A single projection of light split the darkened room with colors swirling in spirals and geometric shapes. The tall form of a man walked into the beam, interrupting the light; a dark silhouette against the spinning shapes.<p>

The light fades and the house lights return to full illumination.

"With that we end chapter twelve. Please read on to the next chapter," the man began, pacing his words as if lost in another thought.

"We will be covering that next class, and uh, preparedness is paramount!" Ian Malcom finished, turning towards the door of his classroom, staring at the familiar face of John Hammond sticking his head in through the door, waving, jovially.

"-or folly."

After the incident in 1993, Ian Malcolm's sudden alarm over the progress in genetics threw him into a tantrum. Before his health had even fully returned, he began contacting editorials and scholarly papers attempting to alarm the general public to this "self-indulgent imperilment." A few papers posted his work in small articles or quoting it in sections only to be hit with massive libel suits from InGen, who, although unwilling to attack Ian, would attack any publication that posted his work. Unsatisfied, Malcolm continued to speak out, going through legal channels only to have "upset the wrong business suit" as he would latter say, costing him his tenure and career.

Struggling for a few years, Ian attempted to get papers published and book lectures with little luck. Few members of academia could warrant bringing such a prominently rogue figure to their schools and the exorbitant price required often meant finding someone "more eloquently castrated."

"Don't say that," Sara Harding had argued, walking Ian to his car after a possible lecture booking. She was in town for a few lectures of her own. The nurturing habits of Hyenas had interested a few of the local zoo's, attempting to spread awareness of the complex behaviors of lesser understood predators. Much to the dismay of several of the zoo keepers, she spent most of her free time away from the zoo's and away from academia that hounded her every word, choosing instead to follow Ian as he tried to get bookings of his own.

"It's true. You act like it's not." Ian snapped, tossing his briefcase into the backseat.

Sara looked on, sadly. Ian had always been a fascinating man to her and his colorful success even in the more black and white field of science had left her with a great appreciation for his work, even though she only partially understood it.

Ian sighed, seeing the look on her face. Her calming presence had always soothed him. Her fiery heart, however, had seduced him more than once.

"Ian, just keep going. You'll do fine. You always have." she reassured him, placing her hand on his arm.

"I'm not—I'm not worried about that." Ian had a way of trailing off, never fully finishing a thought. Sara could tell where he was going most of the time.

"I'll be fine. Just make sure you hold up your end of the deal."

Ian scoffed, bothered she doubted him. Sara laughed at his response.

"No. Seriously! You need to find a way to get me out of that! I don't wanna meet them there!"

"It's their favorite place! Uh, uh—they like to eat there—it's kosher—they'll love it—you'll love it," he argued back, unconvincingly. Sara shook her head, not wanting to deal with it.

"Look," Ian started, his voice quieter. "They want to meet you. My parents can be a hand-full but uh, you can order drinks—they have a fantastic bar—and, uh, I'll take you home after and we can, uh, well—"

Sara smiled, pointing at him with her finger decisively as if to say you'd better.

Months latter Ian received an urgent summon from John Hammond. Unsure of the reasoning, but somewhat convinced it had to do with health reasons, Ian decided to visit Hammond. It would be here that his life was thrown upside down again and his involvement in Hammond's whim's finally paid off. The San Diego incident would prove Ian had been right all along, returning his tenure and pushing him to near celebrity, a pedestal he no longer took for granted.

"My wonderful Dr. Malcolm!" Hammond greeted, hand outstretched and smiling grandly. "It must be wonderful to be back in academia again. All those bright shining faces!" Hammond finished, looking around at the confused glances, and the slight murmur of the students as they exited the amphitheater.

Malcolm winced. "Bright-shining-John, why are you here? The last time I saw you—"

"No no, nothing like that. Nothing like that." Hammond smiled, patting Ian on the shoulder, waiting a moment for Ian to grab his folders and briefcase."I suppose I've become a sort of reminiscent man in my old age. Revisiting the past and the sort. An old man must be indulged after all."

Ian nodded, holding the door as John walked out into the hallway.

"I wouldn't suppose you'd be free for lunch. My treat, of course." John asked, turning around to meet Ian's gaze.

"So you've come here, for no other reason; right?" Ian stood, hands outstretched, as if pleading his case. "You're here. Just to say hi?"

Hammond laughed in a single, heart felt burst."Oh Ian. What are you in the mood for?"

Ian stood for a moment, unimpressed, attempting to look through John's smile. "Let me," he began, exhaling. "Let me stop at my office first."

"Splendid!"

* * *

><p>"I heard that Dr. Harding's research into the preserve was quite well received!" Hammond boasted as Ian opened the door to his darkened office. Ian walked ahead into the darkness, leaving John in the doorway.<p>

"If, uh, by 'well received' you mean reviewed by every association and disemboweled by pretty much all of academia for, uh, 'faulty methods' and 'contaminated evidence,' even as much as 'emotional and personal bias as a woman,' then yea, well received, John."

"Well, I hadn't quite heard it that way," he argued back, stepping into the darkness as Ian turned on a single desk lamp, illuminating the cluttered desks and piles of unopened letters in the trash.  
>Ian slid a stack of books across his desk, allowing a few to topple off the table into the overfilled trash bin.<p>

"I always imagined you a neat man, Ian." Hammond spoke, slightly amused.

At that, Malcolm stood up and smiled. "Can never predict everything, John."

Hammond shared the smile with Ian, and chuckled lightly, initiating a couching fit.

Ian looked up concerned, listening to the coughing fit grow and then subside. Hammond seemed weak. Leaning more heavily on his cane than Malcolm had remembered. He watched as Hammond found the one empty chair and sat down, relaxing and resting a moment in the near darkness.

"We're dying, my boy."

Ian looked up from the desk, slowly, not interrupting.

"The island is—well—and I am" he trailed off. Ian sat down on the edge of his desk, cautiously.

"I know I promised no more of this, and I'm sorry my boy. I thought you should know this. A few months ago, we noticed a sharp decline in populations for certain species on the island. There was some thought that perhaps the animals were now so mature that the first generation of InGen creations, the last of my creations, before nature took them from me, were now finally reaching their old age," he laughed slightly at the thought.

"But the numbers kept shrinking, with some teetering on extinction, once more. I attempted to contact the U.N. and initiate a last chance preservation effort but they wouldn't hear me. No one will."

Ian shuffled slightly, listening intently but obviously with something to say.

"So you see Ian. We are dying. My island along with me. Any chance at creating a legacy on the Hammond name is dying."

Hammond cleared his throat, standing up from the chair and moving to Ian.

"I'm too old to fight this fight anymore, Ian. I can't manage a preservation effort. I can't spend time in the spotlight to establish some need of urgency to preserve these animals for all the world. I can barely manage to walk down your hallway!" Hammond smirked, but obviously saddened.

"I need you. One last time."

Ian sat for a brief moment. "John. No." Hammond jumped slightly to protest.

"No. John. It's over. It's over." Hammond turned to take a few steps from Ian.

"John, the ecosystem on that island was not natural. Who-who was that Doctor who came out years ago saying the same thing! It was a derivation by man. Unwittingly and unwillingly, but a constructed ecosystem. Real ecosystems are fragile enough but you created one by—by leaving these creatures alone on that island: it could only have lasted so long."

"But we can preserve them-"

"How—John—build another park? Man is not meant to live with these creatures. And time is finally correcting itself."

Hammond turned back to Ian, staring deeply into his eyes.

"It's simple chaos theory. These animals thrived and ruled their world millions of years ago, but something caused them to die off. They couldn't—they couldn't adapt and those that did evolved, never to take those forms again. No amount of money will change how close the Earth spins to the sun or how strong the gravitational pull of the moon is on our seas.

"There's only so much that can be done, John, before nature reverts back to its neutral and, uh, natural state, correcting the mistakes we made."

Hammond exhaled, eyes glazing.

Ian stood from his desk to comfort the old man. "John, why don't you spend this time with your family. I'm sure Tim and Lex would be so happy to see you and keep you company."

"There in lies the rub, dear boy" Hammond began, pacing the office. "You spend your young life looking for ways to please your children as they grow, and to nurture them into strong, quick witted individuals, to not burden them with your mistakes. For years you take that time for granted until one hard, miserable day, they leave you, and you are alone: again. You spend years searching for ways to fill that void in your soul—to make up for your mistakes—to make other children smile and be happy in ways you could never have made your own child. Then the cruel hands of time mangle you and the sins of the parent are passed onto the children.

Hammond's eyes moved up Ian, eventually meeting his gaze. "In the waning hours of my life, I am alone. The only children I have left are dying on that island with me, and I am powerless to stop it."

Ian froze, chills running through his body.

Hammond wiped a tear from his cheek, moving close to Ian and taking his hand, patting it lightly.

"I'm-I'm sorry, John. I had no idea," Ian mumbled, fumbling for words.

"You, Ian, are the only true friend I've had in all my long years." Ian fretted, moving his hands to Hammond's shoulders. "Only a friend could tell a stubborn old man the truth as you have always so effortlessly done."  
>Hammond gasped through tears, barely able to speak the words.<p>

"I am sorry-"

* * *

><p>The low murmur of voices could be heard even through the heavy wooden door at the UN offices. Alan Grant sat in the carpeted hallway, watching with growing impatience as men in Gucci and Armani suits passed him, ignoring his presence, a detail he had grown less comfortable with during the many visits to the UN over the years.<p>

The afternoon had been spent speaking to different groups of delegates. He hated every moment of it. He felt like a puppet on a string being forced to dance and sing the same tired old song and it was growing old fast. His final appointment of the day was with Councilman John Hilman, a man he didn't trust anymore than he had to. He was, after all, the typical politician: rich, sharp dressed, quick witted, and self serving.

"Dr. Grant, we finally meet in person," He remembered Hilman saying the first time they met as he sat in the brig of the naval ship off the coast of Isla Sorna.

"Yes, and you are?"

"John Hilman, Councilman for the United States of America in the UN. I represent home, Dr. Grant," John responded, smiling and outstretching his hand. He was a younger man in his late thirties; his hair still full and blond from his youth.

"Our office got a call from a friend of yours, Mrs. Degler, about five hours ago. She alerted us to your situation here. Threw the office into an uproar!"

"She has a way of doing that," Alan laughed awkwardly.

"Well, it's good to see you're in good spirits. How are they?" he asked, nodding towards the Kirby's, who sat clutching each-other.

"Alive, which is more than I can say for the others-"

"Others?" Hilman interrupted, caught slightly off guard.

Alan winced, bringing himself to the admission.

"There were several more, yes," Grant answered with pain in his voice.

Councilman Hilman exhaled, searching through the papers he had under his arm.

"That's more than unfortunate then. You realize this is a serious violation of the agreements established between the U.S. And the Costa Rican governments? It's going to be a while before this whole matter is resolved. If you work with us, we'll do our best to avoid any serious penalization."

He'd been right, of course. Councilman Hilman was able to spare them the brunt of the attack, instead shifting the blame from the Kirby's to the deceased pilot who lay scapegoat for "going off course," along with the Costa Rican Government for inadequate patrolling of a protected zone.

Alan had, at first, questioned the motive for lessening his own punishment or changing the true story but he more than understood now. "There is always a penance," his mother had told him as a boy and she'd been right. Sitting in this hall way waiting for Councilman Hilman to finish, dealing with delegations and committee's and the ever ignoring eye of all the important figures who walked the halls: this was part ofthat penance.

"Until then," came a voice from the door as it cracked open and three men in business suits walked out, holding packets of paper and briefcases. Councilman Hilman walked up to the door, looking down the hallway as the group turned a corner, then looked down at Alan, still seated in a chair.

"Dr. Grant. Always a pleasure to have you come and visit. You always bring such cheerful perspectives," he joked shaking Alan's hand and walking him into his office.

"Councilman." Alan greeted, formally, obviously to the distaste of the councilman.

"Please! Alan! After all these years, call me John," he insisted, sitting down on his desk. "John! The guy who saved your neck and who's ensured you're continued residency here!"

One of the things Alan hated most about the councilman was his ability with one hand to bring you up, while in the other, remind you that he had you by the balls.

Alan, nodded, understanding.

"You called me here to speak about the report," Alan started, attempting to change the subject.

Chancellor Hilman remained motionless, as if waiting for something.

"John." Alan finally yielded, realizing what he'd, neglectfully, left out.

"There, see! That wasn't so hard!" he laughed, moving from his desk and into his large, padded chair overlooking the bay.

"I've read through your report. Very interesting." Hilman's tone belied his words. He was up to something and leading Alan somewhere. "We'll have to be more careful from now on. We can't risk loosing the team."

Alan nodded, wondering exactly where this was going.

"I have to agree with your sentiments," Hilman continued. "We're being too foolhardy in attempting to bring them on board. We'll need to be more careful. These are a massive investment after all and we can't keep euthanizing them every time they kill a guide."

Councilman Hilman shuffled through the report, pulling out a single page, not stapled to the rest. "I find your recommendations to be quite on par. We'll have to get a move on this. The hour is late." Alan sat motionless.

Something wasn't right. His recommendations had not been more than a few small ones.

"Move on this?" Alan questioned, insecurely.

"Yes. The final phase of the mission is about to begin. We're already bringing in the last part of the team and your recommendation for a new guide is perfect. Top notch actually. The new senior advisor for the operation is flying the group in tomorrow morning so we're bringing them all in now. We'll be ready to move onto the final step of the operation and once that step is taken, you'll be free to go. I'm a man of my word, Dr. Grant. I said once this operation was completed, you will have paid you're dues. No more midnight calls. No more overnight flights. You can return to your deserts and bones. You'd like that, right?"

Alan's breath had frozen, his mind racing. "Who exactly did I recommend?"

Councilman Hilman let out a loud laugh, then managed to stifle the rest of his laughing fit. "Oh, Alan. You never manage to let me down. It's right here in your report!" Hilman slid the singular page across the table to Alan, who took it with a quick grasp.

Alan froze in his chair, staring at the names on the list not in his handwriting: these were not his recommendations. He'd remembered saying the names offhandedly to Mark years prior, and had hoped, secretly, that Mark had forgotten, but he never wrote them down. It was obvious now that Mark hadn't forgotten. The list read like any off the cuff remarks: some people better than others and not listed in any particular order. At the top of the list, however, highlighted with Councilman John Hilman's initials, was the one name he'd hoped to have spared. The one he wanted to be sure would never know about the operation.

* * *

><p>"What did you say!" Eric screamed to his friend over the loud band music filling the club. The two sat at the bar on stools surrounded by people trying to get a drink order in. Stage lights flickered as the band played a rock song so loudly it was unrecognizable. The crowd enjoyed it anyway.<p>

Sean moved closer to him, nearly whispering into his ear, beer in hand.

"Sean, I have no idea what the hell your saying!" Eric laughed.

"I said," he screamed close to Eric's ear, who jumped away laughing.

"I said she's hot, and I'm so high."

Eric laughed.

"You don't smoke!"

Sean looked at him, his eyes bloodshot, and laughed heartily, falling back into the guy sitting on a stool next to him.

"Dude!"

"Sorry man!" Sean laughed, jumping out of the mans lap, sitting back on his stool.

"Sean, are you ok?"

"Yea man! Hey! Hey! Look at her."

Eric turned his head and saw a young girl about their age with long blond hair in a slinky shirt and short skirt.

"Wanna bet I can get her number?" Sean asked.

Eric laughed. "Man, if you get her number, I'll pay your tab for the night!"

The two laughed. Eric turned back to the girl to see a man slide his arm around her waist as she turned around and kissed him. Eric scoffed to himself. Sean was always going after the wrong girls.

"Hey! Hey! You! Can I have your number!" Sean called out.

Eric shot a look at Sean, then looked back at the girl who grabbed her drinks and turned to back towards her boyfriend, unamused.

"I said can I have your number! You have great brea-"

"Sean," Eric said under his breath grabbing his friends shirt.

"What! I was just telling her she has a nice pair of-"

At that moment Sean turned around, his face meeting the fist of the boyfriend.

Sean fell to the ground, a bottle rolling out of his pocket. Eric leaned over to help his friend up and picked up what looked like a prescription bottle.

"Holy crap!" Sean yelled, crab walking backwards away from the boyfriend who was ready to strike again.

Eric read the label on the bottle

**_Prescribed to: Eric J. Kirby_**  
><strong><em>Take once daily. Do not take with Alcohol<em>**

"Sean you fuck! These are mine!"

"They're good too, man!" Sean responded, running over to the door. The boyfriend picked up a chair, tossing it at him. At that moment, the whole place blew into an uproar. Glasses were flying and people were screaming. Eric panicked: he knew the closest exit and how to get there but he was completely surrounded by people.

Two bouncers moved into the club, pushing through the crowd, heading towards Sean and the buff boyfriend who was beating him to a pulp. Eric moved towards his friend in the group when the flashing light of a police car hit his eye from the door.

_Shit_! Eric thought to himself, realizing Sean would probably get arrested with Eric's prescription drugs running through his blood.

He had to move quickly. Taking a beer bottle he tossed it at the floor, watching as the crowd parted to avoid the shattering glass. With that he plunged forward into the open area, pushing for the door. A large man pushed Eric back, causing him to fall to the ground. Not skipping a beat, he forced his way through the legs of the crowd, knocking a few people off balance, but making his way to the door, sprinting down the sidewalk, instinct having taken over.

A block away, Eric rested. He'd just left his buddy in the bar to be beaten to a pulp and arrested for, of all things, possession of a controlled substance: Eric's own. He hadn't even thought about it; just acted. Guilt began to set in and Eric walked towards the parking lot, reaching for his keys.

Pulling the contents of his pockets out, his phone buzzed. He had several missed calls and a text message from his mother.

'_Come Home.'_

She must be depressed, he thought to himself, getting into his car.

* * *

><p>The clock on the mantle ticked loudly in the dimmed living room. Ellie Degler sat listening, quietly contemplating. Lights of passing traffic illuminated her face in brief bursts, revealing her bloodshot eyes. She had been crying.<p>

She sniffled lightly, repositioning herself on the couch. The tears had stopped flowing long ago but the thoughts still hung dankly in her mind. Too many nights she found herself alone, crying. Her reasons were her own and were never shared with anyone let alone her sister, Laura, who pestered her non-stop to reveal some reason for her sadness.

"I'm telling you, go see him!" Laura had said, sitting down next to Ellie. Laura was only a few years younger than Ellie. The long blond hair and soulful eyes made the two seem like bleated twins.

"I'm not really comfortable with that," she said flatly, standing back up from the couch.

"Why not? It doesn't make you crazy!"

Ellie looked back at her, shooting a glare.

"I'm not seeing a psychiatrist."

"You wouldn't have to if you just talked about it," Laura said under her breath, turning on the couch.

"What?"

"I said—you know what, never mind. No! Never mind. You're just being stubborn about this. You're worse than the guys!" Laura stood waving her older sister off and walking into the kitchen.

Ellie stood with her arms crossed, not responding. She stared off around the room, searching for something to fixate her attention on.

"Look, Ellie, you know I love you." Laura turned in place, facing her older sister.

"Does it have to do with that guy? That professor—Alan?"

The door handle jiggled lightly as keys unlocked the deadbolt quietly. Ellie, wiped the tears from her face and turned around to see Mark sneak into the darkened house.

"Hey babe," Ellie spoke quietly, leaning over the back of the couch.

"Oh, hey! You're still up?" Mark had been gradually staying latter at the office over the past month. Midterm elections were always busy in DC, although Ellie didn't think it had to do with politics.

"Where's Alan?"

"Oh he left already," Mark answered with a kiss. "We were running so late, he just rented a car and started heading back. He told me to tell you goodbye. He'll be back in a month."

"Seem's like he's coming back an awful lot for just the opening of a museum wing." It was obvious Ellie doubted the cover story.

Mark cleared his throat and motioned up stairs. "The kids asleep?"

"They should be. You never really know with boys."

Mark laughed lightly. "Did you get everything packed?"

Ellie stood up from the couch. She'd spent the afternoon chasing the two boys around, trying to pack their clothes and toiletries. Mark was taking them camping to celebrate his promotion and let Ellie have some time with her family. She secretly wished she could go too. She missed the outdoors.

"Yea, it's all in the bags."

"Good, thanks honey." He kissed her again, pausing a moment. "Are you ok?"

Ellie cleared her throat, trying to hide her face in the dark. "Yea, just tired."

Mark stared on, unsure if he believed her or not. "Alright. I'll be up to bed shortly."

Mark kissed her on the forehead, having to hold his wife slightly lower than his shorter stance.

Ellie exhaled, smiling out of the corner of her mouth. Mark did try hard to be a good husband and she felt foolish for fearing otherwise. Her mind wandered, walking up the stairs, wiping the rest of her tears from her face.

"No." She had argued back at her sister, her eyes swelling with insecurity.

"It doesn't have to do with Alan."

* * *

><p>Eric's ride home was quiet. He was too busy in thought to even consider turning on the radio. Would Sean be arrested? Would they let him go? If he did get arrested, they wouldn't find the medication on him; Eric had quickly pocketed it. But even then, Sean was an idiot and would probably tell them anyway. A urine test would show what he'd been on.<p>

And now what? Why would his mother need him late on a Saturday night anyway. Maybe she was in another mood and needed him there because his dad hadn't come home—again.

As Eric pulled up the driveway to the small home, he noticed both of his parents cars were parked in the driveway and all the houselights were on.

Ok, now I'm confused, he thought to himself, getting out of the car and heading up to the front door.

"Eric, I'm so glad you came. We've been waiting for you," his mom greeted him, putting her arm around him and guiding him into the living room. The house was filled with the disturbingly strong scent of Chamomile tea. The last time the house smelled like tea his mother was on an herbal diet: some stupid liquid diet that helped you shed pounds, and promptly regain them once you stopped drinking the product. As he recalled, she complained often that the tea tasted like steaming horse shi-

"Eric, this is Dr. John Hammond."

At that, Eric looked down on to the couch where an old man sat, sipping tea painfully.

Eric knew who John Hammond was. After he and his family were rescued from Sorna, John sent him a few letters and called on occasion to see how things were going. He'd been kind to Eric over the years, even offering to pay for the therapy that Eric needed.

"Eric! What a pleasure it is to finally meet you in person! My, what a strapping young man you've become!" John spoke aloud, attempting to stand from the couch, unable to.

Eric sat next to him, shaking his hand.

"It's great to finally meet you, Mr. Hammond-"

"John, call me John!"

Eric laughed to himself. The man was just as enthusiastic and exuberant as he'd imagined.

Amanda and Paul sat on the opposing couch, smiling. "Dr. Hammond, it's so great that you've come to see us. We don't get much company," Paul said, looking towards his wife to say something.

"I've just been a bit reminiscent these past few weeks. I wonder if I might have a few minutes to speak to your young boy here."

"Certainly." Paul smiled, nudging his wife to stand up.

"If you'd like anymore tea, let us know," Amanda added, standing up and leaving to the kitchen.

"I'm quite fine. Thank you," Hammond smiled, not intending to finish the glass in hand. As Amanda and Paul left the room, Hammond turned his attention to Eric.

"Eric, my boy. It's good to see you so well. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important," he asked, tipping his head down, noticing how well dressed Eric was.

Eric merely nodded, about to say no.

"Good. I spoke to Dr. Grant recently. He was dismayed you'd decided to discontinue your study. A boy like you should be doing great things, he said. And I agree."

Eric leaned back. He'd heard this lecture before but from his parents.

Hammond laughed to himself, almost amused by the words coming from his own mouth. "I'm sure you hear enough of that from your father. That's their job, to remind us dreamers of the real world. Mine always did."

A light smile crossed Eric's face.

"But no worries," Hammond started, grounding himself firmly, "we dreamers have to stick together, you know. We make our own paths," he finished with a smile.

"Dr. Ham-," Eric began, seeing John's hand raised and his mouth poised in distaste.

"John," he corrected himself, "all these years you've sent me letters and helped me along—which was very kind of you—and I thank you so much, but not until now do you come to see me. I can't help but wonder if there wasn't something you came to talk to me about."

Hammond moved slightly as if backed into a corner he'd hoped would come.

"If my hunch is right, there's something going on, isn't there?"

Hammond smiled. He'd been found out. He had hoped to be discovered. "Clever boy, Eric. You're right!" he finished in a hushed tone.

"For years my island has remained isolated while I waited for someone who could take it under their power to protect it. I was hoping it would be you, my boy," he said with a smile. "I fear we may not have much time now,"Hammond began, putting his hand on Eric's leg.

Hammond's face seemed to grow older, his eyes twinkling less as he spoke the words.

"Things are not all well with the island. We monitor the animals from a satellite feed. One of the last ones I can still utilize. It gives us information on the animals and keeps a tally on their numbers. The islands population has been dwindling for the past eight months. Some species have almost returned to extinction."

Eric looked on confused.

"They're dying_—we're_—dying."

"Is there any idea why?" Eric asked, visibly concerned.

Hammond looked around, searching for words. "No, we have no idea," he stammered, almost in pain. Clearing his throat, Hammond turned and faced Eric, his eyes piercing deep and sternly. "Were you ever bitten in your time on Isla Sorna?"

Eric was taken aback, not sure how to answer. He had to think for a minute. So much had happened—his run in with the raptors and some of the other small carnivores, the rex and the spinosaur—but he'd never been bitten.

"No, never bitten."

Hammond's face lit up. "Good, good. That's good then." Hammond leaned forward and stood from the couch.

"Years ago, when we first began breeding the animals, we were shocked and surprised by our first carnivore. The park was originally intended to just be female herbivores—did you know that? We planned on the majestic Brachiosaurus, the playful Parasaurolophus, the grazing Corythosaurs, and the mighty Triceratops. The whole group of them would have single handedly guaranteed our place in history and in the hearts and minds of the world. Lawyers, you see, thought that the park in San Diego would be too risky to fund with carnivores."

Eric nodded, following along loosely.

"The first carnivore was a surprise. We didn't expect it. We barely knew how to maintain the herbivore species we'd created and now we had to maintain a carnivore. Small livestock were imported from the coast and fed to the animals. For a few years this continued. New species were rebirthed so quickly the first years.

"There came a day when we birthed our first Rex. I was so excited. I wanted to see it. It was only a foot or so tall now, it's tail having grown thick and tough, and its gaze strong and swift—a truly beautiful animal. I wanted to see it. I wanted to touch it." Hammond reached out as if in the memory itself, sitting back onto the couch.

"I reached in to feel its skin, and it reluctantly shied away from me, squawking a bit. I remember stepping away from the handlers to get closer to it. I had stepped too far away when I finally reached for her and it was then that she bit me—on my leg. Couldn't blame the young devil—instinct had taken over—but I have had to use a cane ever since." He finished, motioning to his elaborate cane that sat leaning against the wall, obviously designed with the theme of the park in mind.

"We never told anyone of the incident. Latter, when we found we could maintain the carnivores, the park in San Diego was closed, and we moved our efforts onto my island preserve." John's voice faded off, lost in thought. He sat motionless, looking deeply into his teacup, the steam slowly evaporating inches above the lip, fogging his glasses.

"A disease," he began, his voice breaking the silence with rasping regret.

"A manic, horrible disease sprung up in the carnivores, spread from the livestock we had so, naively, imported. You see, no nature preserve in the world feeds their carnivores lamb. They had learned from their mistake, dealing with animals going mad and having to be put down. We couldn't afford this mistake and yet, we had done it and jeopardized the entire population," Hammond spoke, anger showing slightly through his contorted winces.

"We isolated the carnivores that showed symptoms, but it spread faster than we could anticipate. In all, several dozen animals had to be euthanized; an expensive and heartbreaking ordeal. It came back every generation, with seemingly greater strength. The doctors had named it some obscenely cold name, the DX syndrome, I believe." Hammond's face showed his distaste for having repeated the story to Eric.

"We're dying. My island. My children, and me. Both from this syndrome. When the baby bit me, it passed on the disease. I've been exhibiting symptoms and soon, it will take me."

Eric leaned back, unsure what to say. "I'm sorry, John," Eric began, breaking the silence. "I'm not sure I understand how I can help."

"You can't," Hammond responded frankly. "I just needed to say it." Hammond visibly slowed down, his mind set changed, speaking slower, less surely, he continued.

"Sometimes, when you," he breathed, "when you hide something for long enough, you forget if it's true—you forget how it tastes on your mouth," he said with a frail voice, his breath ragged and deep. "How it sounds in the air. If you don't say anything, you can pretend it doesn't exist until you can't anymore, and you're forced to recognize it. That's the problem with large endeavors, lad. They depend on a flawless perception and tight control, neither of which is ever possible. That much, I have come to learn."

He stopped for a moment, staring across the room towards the ceiling. "InGen lied about many things to keep its 'liabilities' safe. I'm ashamed of what I created."

Eric leaned back, understanding only slightly. He watched Hammond's face flush as he, too, leaned back.

"I've run out of chances. Nature will, no doubt, erase everything InGen has done—what I have done. I needed someone to know the truth."

The two sat in silence for a moment. Hammond stirred his tea, as if sifting through memories.

"You know lad, my father use to tell me that the key to immortality lay in building something grand. Buildings like the Eiffel Tower and the Hogia Sophia and Big Ben, they will last forever and so too will the men who made them. But all buildings crumble. All dreams will fade. Do you know what the key to immortality really is?"

Eric shook his head.

"It's the way you're remembered after you die; who remembers you, and how they remember you. I don't want to be remembered as the man who caused the deaths of forty-eight people. Do you know what its like to have someones death on your soul, my boy?"

Eric stammered; his breath ran cold.

"Of course you don't. Anyone who has would say the same thing; you never forget their names or their faces. I have each and every name written on my soul. That's my penance. That's the price I have to pay."

Eric looked away, averting his eyes, attempting to respond. He could only sit in the cold moment, afraid of speaking. His mind ran wildly as his thoughts began to condense into a sentence which he hesitantly spoke. "I can only imagine how much it must—"

Hammond's tea cup fell to the ground in a bang, shattering across the floor.

Amanda ran in apologetically cleaning the mess. John didn't react.

"It's ok! It's ok! We never liked that tea set anyway! Paul had them imported for his showroom, and when we closed it this past year, we had all these tea sets lying around and it was simply going to go to waste!"

Eric stared at John, who sat eerily still.

"Dr. Hammond?" Eric spoke quietly, his mother still speaking loudly as she cleaned the floor.

"Mom," Eric spoke concerned, breaking his mothers near trance.

"Oh _god."_


End file.
